Chapter 2 #2
A group of fishermen took over the corner of the bar around six. They were loud and sunburned and told stories about the one that got away. Justin knew all their names and poured their beers before they even asked.
“Regulars are the backbone of this place,” he said during a brief lull. “Tourists come and go, but the regulars keep us alive in the slow season. Learn their names. Learn their drinks. Ask about their kids, their boats, their dogs. They'll love you for it.”
Merritt nodded and filed this information away. It wasn't so different from teaching, really. Learn the names. Remember the details. Make people feel seen.
By seven o'clock, the place was packed. Every table was full, and people lined up at the bar two deep. Crocker emerged from the back and took over the grill, flipping burgers and plating fish with quiet efficiency. Justin mixed drinks without looking at the bottles, his hands moving from memory.
Merritt ran. That was all she could do. Run food, clear plates, refill drinks, repeat. Her ponytail came loose and she didn't have time to fix it. Sweat trickled down her back. Her feet throbbed.
But she was smiling. She couldn't help it. There was something alive about this place, something that hummed beneath the noise and the chaos. People were laughing. Music played. The smell of fried fish and salt air mixed together into something that felt like happiness.
Around eight, the rush started to ease. A few tables cleared out, and the line at the bar thinned. Merritt leaned against the wall near the kitchen, catching her breath.
“You're doing great.” Justin appeared beside her with a glass of water. “Drink this. You look like you're about to pass out.”
“I might.” She took the water and drank half of it in one gulp. “Is it always like this?”
“In the summer, yeah. June through August, we're slammed. I never understand it. The Florida heat doesn’t seem to keep anyone away. It slows down in the fall, picks back up for the winter season when the snowbirds come down. Spring is busy again. The only quiet time is September and October.”
“Good to know.”
“You'll get used to the rhythm. Everyone does.” He nodded toward the dining room. “Take a lap. See if anyone needs anything. Then you can take a break.”
She pushed off the wall and headed back out.
Most of the tables were content, finishing their meals or nursing their drinks.
She stopped to chat with Ed and Margie, who told her she was doing a wonderful job for her first night.
She refilled water for a family with two kids who had made an impressive mess with their fish tacos.
Then she noticed him.
He sat alone at a small table in the far corner, near the back hallway.
She hadn't seen him come in. He wasn't eating, just nursing a drink that looked like whiskey.
His hair was long, past his shoulders, and he hadn't shaved in what looked like forever.
He wore a faded T-shirt and jeans, and he stared at nothing, his eyes fixed on some middle distance that didn't exist in this room.
Something about him made her slow down. Not fear, exactly. More like recognition. She knew that look. She'd seen it in the mirror during the worst of her mother's illness. The look of someone who was here but not really here. Present but unreachable.
She walked over to his table. “Can I get you anything? Another drink, or maybe something to eat?”
He didn't look at her. Just shook his head once.
“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
Nothing. No response. No acknowledgment that she'd spoken at all.
She stood there for a moment, uncertain, then turned and walked back toward the bar. Justin was wiping down the counter, watching her.
“I see you met Ray,” he said quietly.
“Is that his name?”
“Yeah. Ray Maguire. He's here most nights.”
Merritt glanced back at the corner. Ray hadn't moved. Hadn't even lifted his glass. “Is he okay?”
Justin's expression shifted into something harder to read. “That's a complicated question.”
“What do you mean?”
He set down the rag and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Ray's a veteran. Marines. Did a few tours overseas, came back different. That's all I really know. He doesn't talk much, and nobody pushes him.”
Merritt looked at Ray again. Now that she knew, she could see it. The way he held himself, coiled tight even while sitting still. The way his eyes scanned the room every few minutes, checking exits, watching for threats that weren't there.
“Does he have family?”
“A sister. Paula. She comes in sometimes. Nice lady. Works as a nurse somewhere near here.” Justin picked up the rag again. “Look, Ray's a regular. He pays his tab, he doesn't cause trouble, and he keeps to himself. That's all you need to know.”
“But he seems so alone.”
“Some people want to be alone. It's not our job to fix that.” Justin's voice was gentle but firm. “You can be kind to him. You can check on him, make sure he has what he needs. But don't push. Don't try to save him. It won't go the way you think.”
Merritt nodded, but something nagged at her. She thought about what Justin said earlier, about learning the regulars, knowing their names and their drinks and their stories. Ray was a regular. But his story seemed locked behind a door he didn't want anyone to open.
“What does he drink?” she asked.
“Jameson. Neat. One glass. He nurses it all night and then he leaves.”
“Every night?”
“Almost every night. Like clockwork.”
She looked at the corner again. Ray still hadn't moved. The ice in his glass had melted, diluting the whiskey, but he didn't seem to notice or care.
“Take your break,” Justin said. “Go upstairs for fifteen minutes. Rest your feet. You've earned it.”
Merritt nodded and headed for the back door. But as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, she couldn't stop thinking about the man in the corner. The one who came every night and spoke to no one. The one with the long hair and the empty eyes and the drink he never finished.
She thought about her mother, about the years of sitting by her bedside, trying to fill the silence with words and music and hope. She thought about all the times she'd tried to fix things that couldn't be fixed, just by being present, just by refusing to give up.
Maybe Justin was right. Maybe some people didn't want to be saved.
But she couldn't help wondering what had happened to Ray Maguire. What he'd seen, what he'd lost, what had turned him into a man who sat alone in corners and stared at nothing.
She sat on her bed and looked out the window at the darkening sky. The Gulf was turning purple and orange, the last light of the day bleeding into the water.
Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she'd learn more about this place, these people, this new life she was building.
Tonight, she just needed to rest.
She set a timer on her phone for fifteen minutes, lay back on the bed, and closed her eyes.